


Chasing Pavements

by breatheforeverypart



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M, References to Childhood Sexual Abuse, References to Prostitution, references to rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 12:31:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breatheforeverypart/pseuds/breatheforeverypart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hello there.  This work is vaguely connected to my other work "Falling Slowly" and "Canvas Nouveau", but may be read as a stand alone too!  </p>
<p>This one-shot portrays one of the first Enjolras and Les Amis' led protests that Grantaire and Eponine attend.  Grantaire has a breakdown related to ahem, a night of prostitution that went wrong.  He feels immense pressure to earn money and keep his newly found independence from the Thernardiars' human trafficking ring and family (Eponine & Gavroche) stable and safe.  </p>
<p>There is plenty of angst and comfort to go around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing Pavements

**Chasing Pavements**

“Allons-y!” Courfeyrac hollered with an arm around Jehan.

“My dear, all you require is a sonic screwdriver.” Eponine snickered from her position on the Café’s floor.

Les Amis owed Musichetta a great deal for allowing them to use her business as a staging ground for the protest. After all, the conception, planning and legwork had been conducted night after night for months.

Enjolras seemed to be in 14 places at once, demanding progress on last minute adjustments and projects.

Grantaire had, of course, procrastinated on his contribution, which in turn had led to an almost hostile interaction between the leader and cynic.

Eponine bit her lip in concentration as she attempted to finish the word on Grantaire’s last poster. “You alright?”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes. “It only hurts when I move or think.”

“I didn’t hear you come in after work.” She felt Grantaire tense beside her.

“Shift ran over. He needed me to clean up and I pulled overtime.” He grumbled. Heat rose to his cheeks and he knew she could tell he was lying.

With a whistle, Combeferre summoned the group’s attention. All heads turned to Enjolras who thanked his closest friend.

Grantaire found himself staring with rapt attention to the way the leader commanded and inspired his troops.

Evening meetings with Enjolras had taught him how to spar with words. Most of the time, he played Devil’s Advocate simply to incense the revolutionary. These stimulating discussions fueled him for the long hours, never-ending nightmares and strain that hung off of him like the chains on Marley’s ghost.

Only Eponine kept her focus on Grantiare. His disconnect worried her. For the umpteenth time that month, Eponine wondered what the cost for leaving the Thenardiars’ Inn and lives would total. God knows they always got what they were due. Money didn’t really matter if you paid with pride and blood.

Grantaire worked three jobs, all on different shifts. Even when he had an opportunity to sleep, he couldn’t. Eponine knew that better than anyone. Lately, he hadn’t been trying. Like the previous night, he simply hadn’t come back to their shoebox of a flat.

The students surrounding the pair broke out in cheers. Eponine and Grantaire jumped and reacted reflexively.

He moved in front of her and grabbed her hand. Eponine surveyed the scene and balled her free hand into a fist.

After a moment or two the fog cleared and they mimicked their companions. Everyone picked an original Grantaire designed poster and headed out of the Café.

Relishing the fresh air, Eponine matched her stride with her foster-brother-turned-family. “So, are you ready for this…rally?”

“You don’t know what we’re protesting do you?”

“Shut it!” She blushed, punching his arm.

“What is it then?” “Uh.”

“You don’t know either fucking arse!”

“Fine, it’s gotta be something with…ah.”

Grantaire was still deep in thought, when Joly stopped short in front of him.

“It’s looks like we’re here, wherever we are.” Eponine murmured, straining to see above the shoulders that clouded her vision.

“Hold this.” Shoving his poster at her, Grantaire leaned between Joly and Courfeyrac to see Enjolras take his place in front of the crowd.

“Fuck no.” He muttered under his breath. “No.”

Biting back bile, Grantaire turned and pushed through the crowd. Through a panicked fever, he stumbled past row housing and seedy bars.

Flashes of the last night brought him to his knees. His nails scraped the concrete and tears gathered behind his closed eyes.

“Grantaire.” Cold fingers cupped his face.

Shaking with effort, Grantaire pushed away. Wrapping his arms around his torso, he curled into his legs.

“Grantaire. It’s me, Eponine. Grantaire…”

_Her voice barely penetrated this hell. Limbs froze and he found himself invisible. Tied down with lead and tossed in to the sea. The darkness was familiar now, the choking no longer something to fear. Instead he almost welcomed it._

_Almost._

_Eponine._

_Gavroche._

_That fucking protest Enjolras organized for Saturday._

Connections. Warmth and familiarity trickled through his veins and Grantaire found his muscles thawed and light.

“Grantaire.” Eponine sat on her heels, her voice calm and even.

He opened his eyes and nodded at her.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” His voice was raw and ached, like he’d been arguing with Enjolras or singing in one of his marathon showers.

Eponine moved against the wall, where Grantaire had laid his head.

“The rally is about corruption. Enjolras is taking on the bosses of the underworld.”

Smoothing out a flyer, she handed it to him.

“You mean, our underworld.” He mused.

“Yeah…I…sorry.” She whispered lamely. Wiping her palms on her jeans, Eponine placed a hand on Grantaire’s knee and squeezed.

A handful of minutes passed before Grantaire uncrossed his arms and folded his hand over hers.

“I knew.” He admitted quietly.

Flashes of a belt, the patterned motel bedspread and sweat left him hunched over breathing hard.

Eponine waited patiently, careful not to touch him. “When I took the security job at the club, I knew.” Grantaire gasped, clamping a hand over his mouth and shaking his head.

“But the money. Ep.” Lowering his tone, Grantaire raked a hand through his matted curls. “It’s the only skill I have. I’ll never be good at anything else. A _whore_.” A strangled cry ripped from his mouth and he pitched forward.

Losing her composure, Eponine reached for her family and gathered as much of him as she could in her small arms.

He struggled against her touch for a moment or two before letting his head fall in to the familiar curve of her collarbone. She smelled like the cheap shampoo they nicked from the local drug store and coffee in Musichetta’s Café.

Eponine hummed and stroked his hair, occasionally murmuring in Grantaire’s ear. They rocked back and forth, suspended in the moment.

A place where they could pretend the past and future could not intrude. The present held each other and the assurance of safety, if only for a fleeting moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to PM me any ideas or prompts you may have for other one-shots along this vein. Okay? 
> 
> I also enjoy comments, reviews, and constructive criticism : )


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